


some call it reckless, I call it breathing

by thisisdefinitelynotme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: British Men of Letters Being Assholes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode: s12e12 Stuck In The Middle (With You), Episode: s12e14 The Raid, Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Season/Series 12, Spoilers, wow that's a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:50:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10099340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisdefinitelynotme/pseuds/thisisdefinitelynotme
Summary: "What the hell, Mick?" Dean exclaimed, not even caring how his voice shook slightly.Mick chuckled. "You think we wanted you?" He tsked. "No, mate, we've already got the best Winchester. We just needed your brother to get to you, and you" - the angel blade was now pointed to said angel, centimeters from the trench coat - "to get to him."Dean has never hated a British accent more.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Accidental Light" by Sleeping at Last

After a couple days of talking, Sam finally convinced Dean to work with the British Men of Letters, thus the reason he and Cas (who wanted to take a break from searching for Kelly Kline and so tagged along) were now inside the (new and improved) Kansas division of the BMOL. 

Mick appeared within the computer-walls of the white room, arm outstretched in the form of a handshake, still a good ten feet from Dean. He was, apparently, immobile now, forcing the hunter to walk to him. "Dean Winchester, it's good to see you."

"Yeah, well, I don't get that often."

As soon as Dean stepped forward to shake the man's hand, out of nowhere, three of the background wanderers suddenly had their guns trained on Cas, and Mick produced and twirled a silver angel blade, smirking. Dean stared at this sight, in panic: these British douches took out  _Lucifer_ , there's no telling what they could do to Cas. The angel, meanwhile, took a couple of glances at the men who were now his captors before landing his azure gaze on Dean. Oddly, there was no heat or panic in his demeanor. There was simply a sort of tired finality. 

"What the hell, Mick?" Dean exclaimed, not even caring how his voice shook slightly. 

Mick, that son of a bitch, chuckled. "You think we wanted  _you_?" He tsked. "No, mate, we've already got the best Winchester. We just needed your brother to get to you, and you" - the angel blade was now pointed to said angel, centimeters from the trench coat - "to get to him." 

Dean has never hated a British accent more. "Leave him alone," he seethed through clenched teeth. "If you want somebody, take me." Cas was simply staring. He seemed ready to take whatever torture was in his future, and that terrified Dean more than the guns aimed at him. 

"Do you even realize what we now have?"  _My - my best friend_ , Dean thought. "We have, in our possession, a bona fide angel. So much power, even broken and battered, contained within that ill-fitting and frankly odd trench coat." Mick's gaze swept hungrily over Cas' body, like he was looking at a mere object. The (actual) hunter's blood boiled. Mick sauntered closer to Dean now, still twirling the blade. "We have the angel who is responsible for releasing the Leviathan." 

That, finally, caused a reacting in Cas, who lowered his head and closed his eyes. This was noticed only by Dean. 

Mick was now right in front of him, just shy of his personal space. "We have the one who expelled all of the angels from Heaven. Beings who, mind you, killed many on Earth and imprisoned many more when they took the vessels." Now he stepped in Dean's personal space. "We have the angel who released Lucifer from the cage." 

Dean couldn't contain his rage anymore: he punched Mick in the face. 

One of the gunmen fired a shot into the air. A warning. Cas, now looking at Dean again, did not flinch. 

Dean, however, did. This did not go unnoticed by Mick, who now gingerly touched his cheek, a tiny bit of blood escaping from a cut. "If you assault me again, your angel will feel your crime." 

Dean decided to ignore the Brit, appealing directly to  _his_  angel. "Cas -"

"Dean," the seraph interrupted somberly, "it's alright. Go. Leave in one piece." 

 _I won't be in one piece if you aren't with me_ , Dean thought, then immediately wondered where the hell that chick flick line came from. Aloud, he said, "No can do, buddy. That ain't gonna fly."

" _Dean_. You should go." 

Dean tried to take a step toward Cas, but the gunmen moved their weapons warningly, so he stayed put. "Cas, I'm not leaving here without you, even if it kills us both." 

 _That_ , finally, earned an actual reaction from him. His eyebrows scrunched together and his head tilted, considering those words. Dean isn't sure which part did it: the Purgatory reference or the idea that Dean would die to save him. Whatever the case, Dean decided to use another reference from their past. "You don't think you deserve to be saved." 

Cas' blue eyes widened fractionally at that, remembering when those words were first uttered. 

"This is all so very touching" (the Brit didn't look touched) "but I'm afraid it doesn't matter what either of you want. See, we hold the cards now. We have the halo, and neither of you can do anything about that."

Suddenly something interesting happened - Castiel's entire face changed minutely, so minutely that Dean knew he was the only one who noticed. The angel had a plan. Dean nodded his head fractionally, a movement that could easily have been an unintentional twitch, to let Cas know he understood. Cas, in turn, stared, gaze now heated with power. This entire non-verbal interaction, which lasted mere seconds, was completely undetected by the Brits. 

All at once, Castiel raised his right hand, a blindingly bright light being emitted. Dean turned away and closed his eyes, hoping that the guards wouldn't shoot blindly. Three seconds after the light show began, and a half second after it ended, Dean felt a strong hand wrap around his arm, and a deep rough voice in his ear saying, " _Run_."

Without further ado, both man and angel ran. 

As it was, the entire building (featuring reinforced doors) was placed on lockdown. All of the lights went out; the only light now was the soft red blinking from the shrill alarms. Though they did not run into any humans at first, it was now much more difficult to see where they were going. Dean felt like a rat that had been placed within a maze. 

Unexpectedly, Cas bodily pushed him through a doorway, pressing him into the wall, silencing him with a hand to his mouth (yet another reminder of past situations). Cas had his eyes trained on the hallway, where quick footsteps could be heard, while Dean stared at the angel's profile, so close to his own. So...  _devastatingly handsome._

Now  _really_ wasn't the time to be thinking about this. 

After Cas deemed it safe (as safe as can be, considering), the two began running again. 

Suddenly though, very shortly thereafter, Cas stopped again, and Dean, who was behind him, narrowly avoided tackling him. "Cas, what are you doing now?" he hissed. 

The angel, who was touching the wall almost softly, replied, "Stand back. The outside world is on the other side of the wall." Dean didn't have to be told twice, chalking up this wall knowledge to weird angel mojo. 

Cas' hand, now flat against the wall, glowed again, this time an ethereal blue. The walls shook, and Dean (covering his eyes again) heard the cracking and crumpling of brick, wood, and steel. This was shortly followed by a cool rush of air. 

Dean opened his eyes, almost blinded by the midday sun. He drew his gun in case of the enemy appearing and surveyed the outside, catching a view of the Impala about a hundred yards away. Then he noticed Castiel, leaning heavily on the wall. He must've used too much mojo too soon, but there wasn't time to worry much about that. 

Touching his shoulder, Dean said, "C'mon, buddy, I can see Baby. We're almost out." Cas nodded, breathing heavily, and the they took off again. ( _Damn, I’m getting too old for this_ , the hunter thought.)

When they were still sixty yards away from their saving grace (or car, rather), bullets began flying and men and women started swarming from the compound. Dean quickly located Baby's keys and threw them to Cas, yelling, "Warm her up! I got them." Cas caught them, running faster, trench coat and tie flapping behind him. 

Dean, now awkwardly moving backwards, began firing rounds at those shooting. Two of them went down; there were still ten more. The odds weren't good, and Dean knew it. Suddenly he felt the white heat of pain: a bullet had skimmed his arm. It didn't matter, though, for Cas had whipped the Impala around to collect Dean, and the two skidded off (with the addition of a few bullet holes in the black beauty). 

While Cas floored it (carefully, Dean observes thankfully), the hunter kept his eyes trained on the road through the back window, searching for any chasers. 

A full twenty minutes later still found them in the same way, tearing up gravel to escape crazy British sons of bitches. The adrenaline rush had finally lulled, and Dean felt exhausted. Tearing his eyes from the road, convinced no one was coming after them, he turned towards the angel. For a second he just let himself openly stare at Cas, appreciating the delicacy with which he drove his baby, even at such high speeds. And then he actually noticed Cas' appearance, how his clothes were windblown and his messy brown hair was messier than usual, giving him the appearance of when they first met all those years ago. Most noticeable, though, was the utter tiredness adorning his face, as though all life had left his body. Indeed, Dean felt the car slowing down and weaving; he saw Castiel's eyes flutter closed before blinking open again. The hunter knew the excessive usage of grace was finally catching up with him. 

"Cas," he said softly, grabbing the wheel with a firm hand, "it's time to pull over." It spoke highly to his exhaustion that the angel complied without complaining or sassing. 

Once they were safely parked on the side of the road, Dean stepped outside to survey the damage to the Impala, while Cas simply scooted over. The hunter ran a gentle hand over the three holes in the back passenger door, thinking that those very same rounds could've easily torn apart his flesh and how surprisingly lucky he was that that didn't happen. 

Now that he was thinking about bullets, though, he remembered that he had been grazed by one, and he began feeling the pain of it. Looking at his bicep, at the bloody torn layers there, he noted that the injury was just a scratch - wouldn't even require stitches. Nothing worse than the usual. 

Dean returned to his throne, the driver's seat, and turned to Cas. The angel was already asleep, leaning against the window. Dean smiled softly at his sleeping form, the tiredness in his face replaced by contentedness.  _Ain't he a little angel._

(Dean Winchester was completely in love with this angel, and he knew it.)

(He also knew that the angel loved  _all of them_ , equally, as family. Nothing more.)

The Winchester retrieved his phone, wanting to call Sam to let him know what went down. Maybe even call Mary... no, he was too tired to open that can of worms. It didn't really matter, though, because somehow during that situation his phone wound up broken and inoperable. He sighed. The four hour drive home now seemed impossibly longer. 

\------

"Where the hell have you been? It's been hours, Dean!" Sam, ever the concerned baby brother, exclaimed. 

When Dean and Cas actually came fully into view at the bottom of the stairs, back at the bunker at last, Dean watched Sam's expression slip from simply annoyed to an annoyed bitch face. Dean rolled his eyes and collapsed in one of the chairs, Cas right behind him. Even after sleeping the whole way home, there were still slightly purple bruises under the angel’s eyes. Dean, having not slept or stopped at all, was also fully exhausted. 

Dean threw his broken phone on the table and Cas groaned, saying, "We met with Mick at the new British Men of Letters temporary set-up. Dean was going to join them, and I simply accompanied him."

"I'm guessing that didn't happen," Sam said, holding the shattered device. 

"Really, Sam? What was your first clue?" Dean sarcastically questioned. Sam rolled his eyes. "They didn't want me. Or you, for that matter. They wanted our angel." 

"Cas? What did they do?"

Thus began the dramatic retelling of the day's events by Dean, interrupted here and there by a more accurate retelling by Castiel. Sam listened, mouth agape, stunned into silence even after they'd finished. Cas held his face in his hands, shoulders slumped, while Dean leaned back in his chair. The shock of the tale finally dissipated enough for Sam to whisper, "Damn. Your arm good?"

"Yeah man, it's fine."

It was silent for another long moment before Sam asked, "How long do you think we have before they come after us?" 

"Who the hell knows? It won't be tonight, that's for sure. They need to regroup," Dean responded.  

"So do we," Cas added gruffly, muffled slightly by his hands covering his mouth. 

"Not tonight. I'm gonna go take a shower, maybe get a drink, and then I'm gonna sleep for a while." Dean stood, clapping Cas on the shoulder and letting his hand linger a bit. "You should get some more sleep too, buddy."

"I will, Dean," he replied, but Dean knew the stubborn angel would probably spend the night planning some form of defense, or looking for Kelly Kline. 

"Have you talked to Mom?" Sam asked Dean's retreating form. 

"Nope," he called, and kept walking. _Not gonna open that can of worms._

The water pressure didn't feel quite as good as it usually does, and neither did the memory foam. There was just a thin slightly bloody line on his arm, not super painful, but enough to sting uncomfortably. Dean realized he hadn't eaten anything since before the British dicks, but he didn't particularly care. He fell into a shallow sleep, thinking about blue eyes and tan trench coats. 

\------

  _He's watching Cas die, again._

 _The seraph has just given his last dying words_. I love you.  _Dean wishes beyond anything that those words are directed to him._  I love all of you.  _There it is. The other shoe drops. Cas isn't in love with him. He loves him_ like a brother.  _And then the angel stops talking altogether and the black goo pours from his mouth, too similar to another time, long ago. Mick is there, laughing at the dying warrior. Cas has to be healed now. He can't die. Except healing doesn't come. The black pours onto his clothing. It's too loud: Mick laughing, Dean yelling at him, the angel's silence. The hunter drops to his knees, screaming at Cas to_ Wake up! Please wake up, Dean, you're dreaming. 

_What...?_

Dean opened his eyes and sat up, gasping for breath, tangled in both the bed sheets and his own clothing, wondering what woke him. Then he sees the dark outline of a form sitting on the bed beside him, arms outstretched as if said form had been trying to shake Dean awake. 

The hunter blinked, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. He finally distinguished the trench coated angel in front of him and expelled a deep breath he didn't know he was holding. Without thinking, he whispered, "Cas," and wrapped his arms around the angel's neck, relieved to see that he was alive. No black goo. Not imprisoned by Men of Letters. Alive, and here. 

"I'm here, Dean. I'm alive," Castiel replied softly, as though reading the hunter's mind. (Which, ok, maybe he was.) Dean felt strong arms encircling his waist, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back. 

Dean pulled away and flicked on the lamp, needing to see the angel in the light. Cas looked as he always does, rumpled and worn. His eyes were beautiful sapphire, but they held such sadness that was so new to his demeanor. 

"You were having a nightmare," he said. "I heard you screaming my name. Do you want to talk about it?"

Dean was still staring at the angel. "No, not really."

Cas nodded. "I'll let you get back to sleep then." He began to stand. 

Without consulting his brain, Dean's arm shot out and grabbed Cas' shoulder. After a pause where they were doing their staring thing, the hunter said, "Wait a moment." The angel stayed put. 

"I dreamed I was watching you die."

"You've seen me die before."

"Not helping, Cas." Belatedly, Dean removed his hand from the angel's shoulder. 

"I'm alive now. I'm here."

"Until someone tries to drag you away again. Oh wait, they already did earlier today."

"We escaped."

"Barely."

Dean sighed tiredly, leaning his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands. But when he closed his eyes he could only see the black ruts marring his angel's body, the hole in his side, the black goo, Mick, the men with guns surrounding him. Clearly closing his eyes was a bad idea, so he opened them, eyes roving over the face and neck that was once a deep greyish black. Gingerly, he untucked Cas' white shirt, going slowly to wait for any signs of hesitation or discomfort from the angel. Receiving none, he ran his fingertips over the smooth expanse of skin that was so bloody not too long ago, noticing the goosebumps that appeared in the wake of his touch. 

Dean placed his hands on Castiel's hips, rubbing small circles on the sharp hip bones with his thumbs, and returned his eyes to the angel's that were now inches from his own. 

Cas' eyes seemed to search Dean's face for something, though the human was unsure as to what. Until the seraph gently leaned forward and placed a feather light kiss on the hunter's cheek, nuzzling said area gently. 

Somehow that gesture seemed more intimate than a French kiss, and Dean realized that the angel did love him like that, deeply, _profoundly_. That was all the knowledge Dean needed to gather the courage to ask: "Will you stay with me?" He chose to ignore, though, how small his voice sounded. 

Without missing a beat, Cas replied, "Of course, Dean," and flicked the lights off. Thus, the angel - awkward as ever - laid down beside Dean, under the covers, fully clad in coat, suit, and tie (he had removed his shoes, thankfully). The human arranged them such that they were pressed with Dean's front to Castiel's back, no space in between. Dean placed his hand underneath the angel's shirt, still amazed at the smooth, bloodless skin to be found. Cas entwined his fingers with Dean's. 

"Sleep, Dean. I'll be here in the morning."

Dean slept, his angel safe in his arms. 

\------

If, in the morning, Dean pulled Cas into deep kisses by his tie after just waking up, no one needs to know. 

And if Sam saw them cuddling in their sleep and took pictures, well... no one needs to know that either. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks guys! Kudos/ comments appreciated.


End file.
